


A Very Feroxi Courtship

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Kissing, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory Negotiations, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Robin never realized how much the khans had missed her...until they both ask to marry her.
Relationships: Basilio/Flavia/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Basilio/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Flavia/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	A Very Feroxi Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [WolffyLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolffyluna) for taking the time beta!

Robin was feeling pleasantly full, nibbling on a skewer of spiced lamb and sitting at the edge of a drumming Feroxi dance circle. She assumed they already celebrated when they saved the world—after Robin had given herself up for dead, after she decided to break the cycle and free the world from the dragon’s shadow forever—but when Chrom rediscovered her, they embarked on another tour throughout the Ylissean continent. It had been a wonderful reunion, and Flavia and Basilio had insisted on holding a feast.

An immense shadow fell across Robin, bare warning before Basilio lifted her off her feet, crumpling her ribs like paper with an enormous squeeze even as Flavia shouted, “Don’t crush her, you oaf!”

Chastened—or possibly alarmed by Robin's asphyxiated shade of blue—he promptly set her down. Whereupon Flavia wrapped _her_ arms around Robin and hoisted her over one shoulder.

Robin was more befuddled than alarmed as Flavia marched them away from the celebration. The Feroxi drums seemed to throb in time with her heartbeat, her lips still slick with cumin and charred meat. Her gaze bounced off the changes in flooring—hard-packed dirt, stone, carpet—and even if Robin had no idea where they were going, at least she knew they were going inside.

“I missed you so much, I’m kidnapping you so you won’t leave my sight ever again!” Flavia declared, kicking open the door to what must be her private quarters. Rich furs muffled Flavia’s footsteps as she deposited Robin onto the bed. “More to the point, will you join my family?”

Robin’s head spun. She hadn’t even _touched_ the free-flowing mead, but felt the drunken flush of it anyway. “...as a sister?”

“No, woman! As my wife!”

“Wait a minute!” bellowed Basilio, shoving through the still-swinging door with a dripping bouquet. “Robin, I’m asking you to be _my_ wife!” He shoved the bedraggled flowers under her nose.

Robin sneezed violently, but not as loudly as Flavia’s indignant response.

“Oaf! Did you just steal those from the hallway?! Also, she’s _my_ wife!”

Robin swatted the bouquet aside, still wheezing. “Erm. Don’t _I_ get a say?”

Both Flavia and Basilio froze.

Basilio coughed into his fist. Peeling his gaze towards the ceiling, he mumbled, “Unless...you prefer women?” The flowers dripped sadly onto his boots.

“Or...you love some man more than me?” Flavia whispered. Her voice dripped sadly onto the rug.

“What? No! That’s not it! I don’t prefer! I mean, I prefer men and women just fine! It’s just that this feels awfully abrupt!”

Basilio roared with laughter and thumped his chest. “There’s nothing she can offer that I can’t!”

“How about brains, for a start?” Flavia jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Oho! How about...a challenge?”

Flavia’s brows knit together before she exploded with a feral grin. “Traditional courtship?”

“Wait, _what_ traditional courtship?” Robin asked, still floundering on the bed. She was starting to feel very much as if she had been landed in the middle of a chess game, except all the pieces had been replaced with mice and the rules kept changing.

“A traditional Feroxi courtship requires that the suitor prove they can _satisfy_ their beloved. So the suitor and at least one other person must both pleasure the one being courted.” Flavia recited it with the utmost deadpan, one hand behind her back as if orating. Possibly reciting it from memory.

“And then the one being courted decides which one to marry!” Basilio finished, grinning ear to ear. He tossed the bouquet aside like so much confetti, scattered flowers landing on the floor behind him.

“Wait! Wait! I didn’t even know that either of you _wanted_ to marry me until just now!” Robin rolled over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it defensively. “I mean! You’re both beautiful—and handsome—and we have watched each other on the battlefield, but isn’t this—isn’t this sudden?”

Flavia cocked her head, sitting on the bed. The mattress was wide enough that Robin didn’t even feel it creak under Flavia’s weight, and the other woman kept her knees courteously angled away from Robin. “Life is sudden and abrupt,” she said simply. “Death can come at any time, from an assassin’s blade or a dragon’s breath. Why waste whatever time we have left? And when you disappeared, after sacrificing yourself to slay Grima—”

“—I felt like my own heart had been ripped out,” Basilio finished.

Rather than chide him for interrupting, Flavia gave a sharp nod, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Robin swallowed a surge of emotion, heat prickling her cheeks and threatening to spill salt from her eyes. “I am so sorry. I don’t even remember what happened—after that. Just waking up in the field.”

“No apologies are necessary,” Flavia said, voice uncharacteristically small. She turned, clearing her throat louder than strictly necessary. “If marriage is too much, then perhaps we should begin with courtship. Or the _right_ to court you, rather.”

“Ha! Yes, I’d rather have no bride at all, than a bride unwilling!”

Robin relaxed her grip on the pillow, releasing a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s good. Very good, I mean. Does that still mean a—erm—traditional Feroxi courtship?”

Flavia fixed her with a gentle smile, the skin around her eyes crinkling with amusement. “It can, if you want.”

“And if you decide neither of us is your choice—well! I hope you’ll have fond memories of the khans’ hospitality!” Basilio finished with a wink and an eyebrow waggle. His eyepatch diminished the effect of the wink, but did nothing to mitigate the waggle.

“The choice is yours, and always has been.”

Robin took a few long moments of silence, laying her thoughts in order while her heart hammered beneath her ribs.

Or perhaps hammered somewhere lower, because she bit her lip and nodded.

It was little more than an emphatic jerk of the head, but enough that Flavia slid close, wrapping her arms around Robin’s shoulders. Through Robin’s heavy coat, it was more pressure than heat, a comforting weight as Robin turned to face Flavia—but rather than the kiss on the mouth that Robin was expecting, Flavia kissed her cheek, less than a breath away from brushing their lips together. Robin shivered.

“Cold?” Flavia murmured, close enough that her words still kissed Robin’s skin.

“No. Excited.” Robin tossed aside the pillow for emphasis. She put her now-empty hands on Flavia’s hips, though she was unsure if Flavia could feel a thing through the metal plates of her armor.

Basilio creaked his weight onto the bed, and _he_ was massive enough that the mattress dipped towards him. It tilted Robin into his arms, spine flush with the heat of his chest. His gorget made an awkward pillow, but he kissed the top of her head, then her ear, trailing a path along her jaw before grazing the curve of her neck. He had to pull aside her high collar to go further, all warm suction and gentle nibbles on the tender spot between neck and shoulder, and Robin found herself pulling on Flavia for support, clutching her like a woman drowning.

“These clothes are going to be in the way, my fawn. Will you undress for us?” Flavia’s voice was more breath than question, warm on Robin’s ear.

Robin’s moan almost swallowed Basilio’s words as he murmured, “Your armour’s going to chafe her raw, Flavia.”

“ _Your_ armour’s already banged her head.”

“Or we can—all three of us—undress and see how we feel?” Robin suggested.

Basilio’s laughter rumbled through her, dancing warm butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Ah, _that’s_ our crafty tactician.”

“She has more wit in her great toe than you have in your whole skull, oaf,” Flavia snorted, rolling her eyes as she stood. She smirked, flexing her arms for Robin’s benefit—and despite their harsh words, Basilio began unfastening her pauldrons, dismantling her armour with practiced ease. His movements were smooth and assured, even anticipating Flavia as she raised her other arm, turning.

Gears turned, clicking into a new configuration.

“You two have done this before,” Robin said, not bothering to make it a question.

“After battle, yes. Not the courtship,” Basilio said cheerfully.

“Not against each other, anyways. He was my best man, last time I wooed a woman.”

“And she was my best hag, for the last time I courted—hey, hey! That’s my ear!”

Flavia released him with a flick. “That swordsman was too young for you and you know it!”

“Wait—you’ve done this before, _and they turned you down_?”

Basilio roared with laughter. “Shocking, I know!”

Flavia rolled her eyes, twirling her finger. Basilio turned obediently, and she unclasped his gorget. “That was history, my fawn. And I’d rather write our futures.”

“I can get behind that— _ooh_.” Robin shivered as Basilio unhooked the cord holding the top of her coat, and wriggled her way out of the long sleeves as Flavia pulled them loose. Hazily, she reflected that it would probably be more _efficient_ if they simply focused on one person at a time—or maybe just on Basilio, since he already had so much bare skin—but Flavia and Basilio could barely touch one another without erupting into a back-and-forth bickering, and every time Robin intervened they both turned their impressive attentions on _her_. Which was both exhilarating and terrifying, which meant Robin could only respond by trying to hastily undress one of _them_ in exchange.

Either way, it was a miracle that no buttons went loose, no straps were broken, and that no pieces went flying across the room by the time all three of them were finally nude. Even though Basilio insisted on using his teeth to remove Robin’s underthings.

Robin self-consciously drew her forearm across her chest, but Flavia chuckled and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Still shy, my fawn?”

“Maybe we can just start with kissing?”

Flavia answered by kissing her on the mouth, and Robin allowed herself to be pressed back into the bed. Flavia used more lips than tongue, all exploration before Robin parted her mouth enough to taste the lingering sweetness of mead on Flavia’s breath. Flavia growled, or maybe purred, a soft rumble that resonated all through Robin as the other woman moved on top of her. Robin was used to admiring Flavia, her strong hands and the way the light reflected halos off her golden hair, but it was so utterly _different_ feeling Flavia’s body next to her own, the bones and edges of her narrow hips, the solid cord of her shoulders beneath Robin’s hands. Robin was so used to thinking of Flavia as small, but no—Flavia was only small next to Basilio’s solid bulk, and Robin had been so used to thinking of them as a paired set that focusing on them one at a time was entirely novel.

But even now—Basilio set himself beside them, taking Robin’s hand from Flavia’s shoulder and kissing her fingertips, one at a time, before pressing his lips to the back of her knuckles. His thumbs traced across her palm, more ticklish than romantic, and Robin couldn’t hold back a giggle as he licked the pulse of her wrist.

“Mm. You’re distracting her,” Flavia murmured, breath hot against Robin’s throat. She flicked her tongue out, lazily tracing the lightning-jump of Robin’s pulse, then mounted Robin’s hips. Robin’s mind was all white fire and inarticulate _want_ as Flavia bore down with her weight, the coarse curls of her sex pressing over Robin’s belly. Flavia’s own desire pressed against her with slick heat, and Robin was torn between rutting against Flavia or to staying pinned to let Flavia do as she wished.

“Well, you’ve taken over the kissing. Give me a chance, then.”

Flavia rolled her eyes, sitting up—oh, and that’s a pretty sight too, with her shoulders back and her breasts peaked, hard brown nipples at attention for Robin’s hungry gaze—and settling herself between Robin’s legs.

Basilio kissed Robin then, and Robin, still reeling with Flavia’s warmth, found that yes, _yes_ there was still room for new wonder, new sensation. Basilio’s mouth was rougher, the edge of his stubble catching Robin on the chin, but he tilted to avoid chafing. He slipped a little, kissing her chin, but then turned accident to intent as he drew her lower lip into his mouth, a soft bite with a hint of tooth, and when she opened her mouth it turned into a moan as he dipped his tongue lower, a gentle rhythm that seemed mysteriously attuned to the throbbing between her legs, and then—

Flavia was there, pressing kisses along Robin’s inner thighs, her shoulders braced under Robin’s knees as Robin instinctively drew them back. Robin moaned into Basilio’s mouth, breath resonant between them, and Basilio pulled back enough to laugh. “I thought we were just kissing?”

“Still just kissing.” Flavia punctuated that with a _bite_ , and Robin bit her own lip to keep from keening. Flavia gentled the sweet-tender sting with another kiss. “Unless you would like more…?”

Robin’s thoughts were sun-warmed honey, dripping off her tongue. “Oh. Oh yes, yes _please_.”

“So _polite_ , I love it.” Flavia wrapped her hands across the delta of Robin’s thighs, and Robin felt herself opened like a flower as Flavia dipped her tongue in lazy swirls, and when Basilio started kissing her again it was like a duet, two performers in synchrony with Robin as their instrument. 

Robin could not decide just _what_ she was—woodwind or string, her words given over to breathless ululation and her spine gone fluid with resonance—but she found herself moaning into Basilio’s open mouth, curved hands gouging his shoulders as she clenched her thighs around Flavia’s skull. Any time she tried to relax, to take away the pressure she _knew_ must be crushing Flavia, she found herself biting Basilio’s shoulder, leaving bruised crenellations across his dark skin. He grunted, biting off what could only be an obscenity, but when she tried to kiss him back, to apologize, her own treacherous body couldn’t help tightening around Flavia, smothering the other woman with a strangled gasp.

“Hold her down, hold her down or she’ll break my neck,” Flavia finally groaned, her lips slick and shining as she looked up across the swell of Robin’s belly. Which was such a beautiful sight that Robin almost missed Basilio’s response.

“Aye, and she’s already biting mine bloody—I joke, I joke! I’ll wear them with pride, the rest of my days. Get them tattooed, even.”

“No you _won’t_ ,” Robin said, cheeks flushing. “I don’t want a _hickey_ tattooed on your neck!”

Basilio chuckled, kissing the top of her head before shifting behind her. Robin found herself framed by his long legs, leaning back against the warm bulk of his chest. He had his own share of hard muscle, thick thighs and massive biceps bigger than Robin’s head, but also a generous padding, as if his entire body had been specifically for comfort. And when he hooked his feet over her knees, sliding her legs apart, it took a moment to realize _oh_ , this was still a form of restraint—warm, loving, comforted—as his arms wrapped around hers, and he dipped his head to nuzzle her shoulder.

Flavia took advantage of this new position to prop herself on her belly, returning to kiss Robin’s clit—kissing, kissing, more tongue than lips now, and a hint of tooth whenever Robin wriggled too much—and as Robin’s spine collapsed in on itself and her nerves sang symphonies up the electric synapses of her legs, Robin tried _so hard_ to bite her lip, tasting copper until Basilio growled, “No, no, let us hear you—” and then sound spilled out of her like water from a cracked glass, shattering off the stone walls and burying itself in the warm crevices of the shared bed with its warm furs and the sweat-gleamed bodies of her two lovers.

Flavia pushed herself onto her elbow, grinning up at them. “That’s round one to me, then?”

“Thank you for the warm-up, but I’ll take her from here,” Basilio snorted. He kissed Robin’s cheek, murmuring, “I’ll use my mouth if you want—I know it’s apples and pears, otherwise—but I like my hands. I'd rather see your face. If that’s all right?”

Robin nodded, and Basilio folded her across his lap like a kitten. His cock pressed her hip, hard but not insistent, and when she slipped a hand down to touch it, Basilio grasped her wrist.

“Ah-ah. Tonight’s about you, not either of us.”

Flavia purred, “But if it’s cock you want, I have a _very_ nice strap—”

“As if your wooden toy could match flesh!” Basilio snorted, and Robin squeaked as he rubbed against her.

“As if my toy weren’t bigger than your—!”

“Please, no more!” Robin stammered. “I can barely handle _one_ of you at a time!”

Basilio licked his fingers, as if about to turn a page, but chuckled as he leaned Robin’s head into the crook of his elbow. He made a wonderfully solid pillow, letting her rest as he pushed two fingers into his mouth, enveloping them in a wet suck of lips. Saliva gleamed off the joints as he withdrew them, dipping his fingers into the cleft of Robin’s legs. He traced the same path as Flavia’s tongue, but it was too much, too soon, and Robin twitched away with a stifled yelp.

“Gentle, you oaf,” Flavia said tenderly, laying her hand across Robin’s belly. The warmth of her palm helped soothe the butterflies in Robin’s stomach. “Give her time to reach that peak.” She finished this advice by kissing Robin’s chest, the flat plate of her sternum before drifting to the swell of her breast.

“My clit’s still too sensitive,” Robin said, almost guilty with that admission. Which was _absurd_ , she knew, but she felt like an ungrateful guest at the center of their attention. “Maybe a finger inside, though?”

She held up her hand, finger crooked in her favorite position, and Basilio set his knuckles flush with her palm. She guided him in, pressing his finger inside her, and curled her toes into the bed as she felt the familiar-unfamiliar pressure inside her. A familiar pressure, yes—but an unfamiliar source, his hand so much larger than her own. There was no friction, no barrier, but her body ached around him with the stretch of accomodation.

And then he _moved_.

His finger curled, beckoned, and Robin grabbed his wrist. His forearm bucked, and she drove herself onto his hand as he found the bundle of nerves that made her sing, as Flavia kept pace with her mouth and teeth on Robin’s breast, biting sweet bruises and raw need. Robin cried out as Flavia wrapped her lips around Robin’s nipple, too tight, too hard, and yet just right as Basilio curved his thumb, let it rub up and over Robin’s clit as she clenched around him. Robin’s mouth parted, eyes shut as she tried to focus on this moment, this moment, etch it into memory on flesh like a bruised tattoo, but Basilio whispered at her to open her eyes, let him see her face—so she opened her eyes, unseeing, body struck with low moan as she quaked into shuddering peak.

Her panting felt very loud in the silence after, and Basilio drew his finger out. He grinned at her, sucking it into his mouth and licking his lips. “I could give you two fingers, next time.”

Flavia swiped her thumb across Robin’s chin, gently closing her jaw. “I could give you a fist.”

“Or I could say—I’m exhausted,” Robin said plaintively. “You are both so good to me. Why can’t I marry you both?”

“And take that oaf as my husband?” Flavia burst into laughter.

Basilio clapped his thigh, howling. “And take that shrew as my wife?”

“Not at all!” Robin raised her voice to be heard over the gales of their amusement. “I’m saying that _I’ll_ marry both of you, not that you have to marry each other!”

Flavia and Basilio eyed each other warily.

“Well...I can see some advantages,” Flavia admitted. “He _does_ keep the bed warm, after all.”

“And she _does_ sharpen my edges,” Basilio added thoughtfully.

“And it _would_ be good for the east and west khans to be in close communication…” Robin suggested.

Flavia grinned, smacking her fist into her palm. “Agreed! And on the first order of business—Basilio, fetch me my strap-on!”

“What—?!”

And despite Robin’s indignant squeal, they kept her happy long into the night.


End file.
